


Teach Me How To Feel Real

by insatiablerealist



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character Study, Depression, Katsuki Yuuri doesn't appear directly, M/M, Mentally Ill Victor Nikiforov, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 20:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9256673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insatiablerealist/pseuds/insatiablerealist
Summary: Skating used to be the thing that made Viktor happy, but as he gets older, his career becomes more and more of a burden. He wants to do something different but he doesn't know what. But just when Viktor's beginning to feel desperate, someone new enters his life and he realizes that things could change.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be the first chapter of a two-part story, with the second part focusing on Viktor and Yuuri's relationship and discussing mental illness more explicitly, especially talking about recovery but also the fact that a relationship can't and shouldn't cure mental illness. The second chapter never really came together, though. I was too much of a perfectionist to finish it and then I kind of fell out of the Yuri On Ice fandom. I'm still really proud of this, and I think it works as a standalone fic, taken with the knowledge that I don't consider this a comprehensive discussion of depression or even Viktor's depression.

“Yakov! Did you see that? I landed a quad!” Viktor practically flew to the edge of the ice, silver hair streaming behind him. He beamed up at his coach, but Yakov was already shouting.

“You know you’re too young to do quads, Vitya! You’ll break something if you keep that up!”

“I know you said I shouldn’t,” he whined, his face falling. “But I can land it! And I want to win gold, I know I can do this.”

“I know you  _ can _ , but it’s dangerous to attempt at your age. Besides, you don’t need quads to win. You’re talented enough already.”

Viktor grinned again at the praise, and Yakov’s stiff frown softened. Only for a moment, though. “Try the program again. But no quads this time!”

“Fine!” Viktor called, already skating back to the middle of the rink to start again. 

He loved the feeling of soaring over the ice, and the way his hair brushed across his face as he jumped, and the sound his skates made as he touched down again. No amount of pestering from Yakov could detract from how wonderful he felt. He would appease Yakov for now and lay off the quads. That just gave him something to look forward to when he reached his Senior debut. He was terribly impatient, but every time he remembered that he had a long career ahead of him, his heart raced at the thought of all that he had yet to do.

 

*   *   *

 

Viktor crouched down to greet Makkachin as his dog ran to him. This was the first time he was back in his own apartment since this year’s Grand Prix. He hadn’t won gold, but it didn’t matter because the press was going on about him anyway. He was still regarded as Russia’s top skater, with many years of a brilliant career ahead of him.

So why wasn’t he in a better mood? Because aside from joy at seeing Makkachin again, Viktor had felt uneasy since he returned to St. Petersburg. He wasn’t angry about not coming in first. It would have been amazing, but he hadn’t really expected it yet. And he felt good about his program and his performance, even if it hadn’t won him a gold medal. But something wasn’t right. 

He felt  _ boring, _ that’s what it was. He was 20 and he’d had the same look and reputation for the last five years at least. When he’d made his Senior debut he had been a force to be reckoned with, highly regarded but unpredictable. But now the crowds had grown accustomed to him. The sight of that long silver hair whipping around wouldn’t make anyone gasp in awe anymore. Viktor found himself walking to his kitchen junk drawer and pulling out the scissors he kept there. Before he could think it through, he reached behind his head and snipped off his ponytail in one motion. 

Almost immediately, his stomach dropped and regret rushed over him. He loved his hair, how could he just cut it without a second thought? The hair didn’t make him predictable, his programs did. He had to make them new and exciting again, and a haircut couldn’t spontaneously accomplish that. As he stared at the bundle of hair in his hand, he felt his lip begin to tremble.

“Don’t cry, dammit,” Viktor snapped at himself, willing his eyes not to fill with tears. After a few minutes of blinking carefully, he took a deep breath. He had committed to changing his look now, so he might as well finish the job. He walked to the bathroom and, with shaky hands, did the best he could to trim his hair into something tidier, craning his neck to try to look in the mirror while working on the back of his head.

When he came in for practice the next morning, Viktor expected Yakov to scream. His coach did look ready to blow a gasket when he first caught sight of him, but a moment later he composed himself and muttered something about getting Viktor to a salon to make him look half-decent. After that, Yakov never said a word about the incident, and Viktor taught himself to love his hair short just as much as he had loved it long.

 

*   *   *

 

“Vitya! That was the most emotionless program I’ve ever seen! If you keep skating like that your presentation score will be abysmal!” 

Viktor hardly blinked at Yakov’s criticism as he glided to the edge of the rink. “I nailed all my jumps. If this were a competition, I’d still blow everyone else out of the water with my technical score alone.”

“That’s not the point,” Yakov said, walking over to him as he stepped off the ice. “Any junior skater could have given more feeling than you just did. Do you want to work hard to amaze the crowd with a good program, or do you want to rack up as many gold medals as you can while putting in as little effort as possible?”

“The second option sounds good to me,” Viktor drawled. Three years had passed since he cut his hair, and in the meantime he had gained a Grand Prix gold medal and enough self-confidence to make him unbearably cocky.

Yakov cursed under his breath. “Some days I don’t know what to do with you.”

But Viktor was already walking away. Yakov wasn’t the only one who was frustrated, he thought. He didn’t really want to spend the rest of his career winning competitions with no real motivation behind it, but that was the whole problem. He lacked motivation because he saw no alternative.

In the locker room he threw his things into his bag, sulking. He vaguely registered that he was behaving like little Yuri, which was worrying because Viktor was theoretically an adult, but he didn’t care enough to pull himself together. He stomped out without saying goodbye to Yakov and returned home to his apartment, bare and empty as always. 

Nothing was satisfying Viktor these days and he couldn’t work out why. When he was fifteen it had felt so different. He had always had clear goals, and every new one had been invigorating. Now, at 23, Viktor didn’t know what he was working towards anymore. He had plateaued. 

Yakov kept reminding him that he could easily continue winning gold until he retired, and Viktor couldn’t deny that part of him lit up at that thought. He could win and win and win until his was the only name in figure skating, until the whole world knew who he was. Part of him loved that idea, but he wasn’t really inspired by it. Something about winning every competition just because he could and not because he really wanted to felt disingenuous. 

He remembered the night he cut his hair, how he had believed for a moment that such a simple aesthetic change could revitalize his career. The reality was that he had worked hard in the weeks after that to create programs that were new and exciting. But he hadn’t felt particularly excited about any of his programs since that season. 

Viktor ran a hand through his hair, examining himself in his bathroom mirror. His fringe was getting long again, brushing against one cheek when he let it fall across his face. From time to time he considered growing his hair out again. In the back of his mind he wondered if he would love his career again if he did that, as if the hairstyle would evoke memories of his inspired teenage years. But that was just as foolish as thinking cutting it would magically transform his programs. So after another moment of self-examination, Viktor wrote a reminder to get a haircut on a sticky note and stuck it to the mirror.

 

*   *   *

 

As Viktor got older, he became a very talented actor. The commentators all crowed over the emotion in his programs. If they guessed he wasn’t really feeling it, they were impressed enough by the skill required to pull it off that they never mentioned it. But the acting didn’t stop off the ice. Everyone wanted an icon they could admire and envy, so Viktor learned to smile and wink, playing the part of the dazzling star who loved being the center of attention. He didn’t see anything wrong with this at first; everyone at the center of attention had to play along with the wishes of the crowd from time to time.

The problem was that all the while he lacked any sort of drive. Just as Yakov had predicted, Viktor kept on winning gold, but other than a natural sense of pride in his unprecedented accomplishment he wasn’t particularly moved by what he did. He wasn’t skating to work towards any new accomplishment, because there weren’t really any new accomplishments to be had, other than an ever-growing number of consecutive Grand Prix wins. He just kept going because it was what he did.

Some days, when he didn’t think too hard about his future and his state of mind, Viktor felt normal. He still delighted in the sensation of his skates gliding across the ice, even if he had no purpose for skating, so he didn’t always fixate on the underlying worry that whatever he was doing now would never again satisfy him. But some days, he couldn’t remember what “normal” was. He felt so trapped in the endless cycle of practice and competitions that he couldn’t tell whether he actually loved skating or now hated it.

Despite this, it didn’t immediately occur to Viktor to stop. His skating career was all he had. Regardless of the fact that he was still in his prime and it would be a waste of his talent, according to everyone who offered their opinion on his life, he had no idea what else he could do if he quit. He hadn’t graduated college, he didn’t have any other skills to speak of. It was skating or nothing. 

When rumors of his retirement started circulating of their own accord just before his fifth Grand Prix win, Viktor was somewhat relieved. Finally a way out. He could retire, and fade slowly into the assortment of former star athletes who were forgotten by most of the world once their careers ran their course. It wasn’t like money was a problem for him. 

“Don’t listen to them,” Yakov said after the third time a reporter asked him if he was retiring. “You’ve still got at least another season in you. Your age doesn’t matter.”

“But what if I want to do something different? Maybe I’m getting bored of winning gold at every competition.” Viktor kept his tone light and smirked so that Yakov wouldn’t take him too seriously, but he meant what he said, and apparently that showed.

“Are you saying you don’t want to skate anymore?” Yakov asked, anger rising in his voice.

Viktor sighed. He had dreaded this. He loved Yakov, the man was a terrific coach, but he would never understand what was going on in Viktor’s head. “Of course not. But I’ve been doing the exact same thing for two decades, nearly. I wish I could at least take a break.”

“If you took a season off I think it would be very difficult for you to return,” Yakov said sternly. “I would advise you  _ not  _ to do that under any circumstances!”

Up until the Grand Prix, Viktor was planning on taking Yakov’s advise. Probably. The prospect of yet another season of skating for no reason other than he was Viktor Nikiforov, living legend and pride of his country, filled him with someone akin to despair, but disappearing into retirement wasn’t much more appealing. What other option did he have?

Everything changed at the banquet. 

 

*   *   *

 

“So, Viktor, are you going to quit competitive skating to coach Katsuki Yuuri?” Chris teased. They were propped up next to each other on his hotel bed, certainly not drunk but tipsier than they had expected to get at a formal banquet. Yuuri had been handed off to his coach, but his words from a few minutes earlier were still ringing in Viktor’s ears. When he took too long to reply, Chris noticed. “Don’t tell me you’re considering it, I was joking.”

“Well…”

Chris laughed. “What do you know about coaching?”

“Yuri—I mean Plisetsky—has been begging me to coach him for years. I help him all the time,” Viktor pointed out.

“I can’t picture Yuri Plisetsky begging you for anything.”

“I suppose he doesn’t ‘beg.’ But it’s obvious he’d love me to coach him full-time, he just won’t admit it.”

Chris rolled onto his side to look him in the eye. “So coach  _ him _ if that’s what you’d rather be doing. There’s no need to move across the world.” Viktor made a noncommittal noise. “Viktor, come on. A drunk boy who you didn’t know before tonight grinds on you and gives you a boner and suddenly you want to change the course of your entire life?”

Viktor sighed, pushing himself up and off the bed. “It’s not sudden,” he muttered, ignoring Chris’s lewd comment.

“You met him two hours ago!”

“No!” Viktor ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Wanting to change my life isn’t sudden. I’ve been bored for years, you know that. I just didn’t know what to do, because coaching Yuri Plisetsky would be a disaster for both of us. And don’t go telling me this is just because I’m lusting for Katsuki Yuuri. This banquet was the most fun I’ve had in the last decade.” He couldn’t remember ever feeling as alive and joyous as he had while dancing with Yuuri.

“But you can’t deny he turned you on. I saw your face.” Chris smirked when Viktor said nothing.

He  _ couldn’t _ deny it, but he didn’t expect Chris to understand that what he felt wasn’t just physical attraction. He hadn’t believed in love at first sight before tonight but no other phrase came to mind. And on top of that Yuuri had provided a solution to the problem that had been bothering Viktor all season. Here was an option for his future that gave him something new and different that excited him, and he wouldn’t have to leave skating behind completely. But just as he was convincing himself that he could move to Japan and really do this, Chris had to burst his bubble.

“Did you even get his number? Besides, he was very drunk. I doubt he meant it seriously.” Damn. He was right. Viktor turned to look at Chris, disappointment surely showing on his face, and his friend shrugged apologetically.

That was enough to slow Viktor down for the moment, but he still looked up online Japanese lessons as soon as he got home. And when he saw Yuuri’s copy of his program, done so perfectly that Viktor could hear the music ringing in his ears even though the only sound in the video was Yuuri’s skates on the ice, he hesitated a total of ten minutes before buying a one way plane ticket to Japan.

**Author's Note:**

> The description of Viktor's mental state is almost completely based on my own mental state, where it took me years to find out that feeling awful all the time wasn't normal, so that's why he doesn't call it depression even though that's what's going on. I know a lot of people view Viktor as neurotypical but his description of neglecting his life really resonated with me so I wanted to write this. The title is from I Am Not A Robot by Marina and the Diamonds but a more overall accurate Marina song for this Viktor would be Numb, which I listened to a lot while writing this.
> 
> If you wanna talk to me, I'm on [tumblr](http://www.eelanorforcongress.tumblr.com).


End file.
